Dance of the Ghost Master
by The-Mighty-Third-Draft
Summary: The Maestro finds unlikely company. The Dance rages on. Based on Michael Jackson's short movie 'Ghosts.' Maestro/OMC. Slash.


Dance of the Ghost Master

_Maestro..._the musty breath disturbed the shredded drapes and sent cobwebs billowing. The house was silent as the grave, except for the wind. _Maestro,_ it gusted through the long gallery. _Maestro,_ it called, as it swept up the spirals steps to where a single fire battled the bitter cold. Valiantly it fought the bitter breath of the damned, but before long it flickered and died, and behind the light ran the dark, hot on its tails, full of terrors.

_**MAESTRO**_. Michael jumped awake, suddenly tense. He'd left nothing for light but the hearth and a couple of flickering candles which had long since been whipped to death by the draft. Now moonlight slanted ribcage patterns onto the threadbare rug, through broken blinds. He sat up, wide awake. He didn't remember falling asleep but before he could think about that, the House murmured it's soft invitation; _Maestro. Wake!_

'I'm up!' he muttered. 'I'm up. What is it?' he padded to the half closed door, insensible to cold. He peered down into the ballroom. His ancestors were silent. 'What is it?' he repeated.

Then a chill raced up his spine and he spun on his heel, to stare into the dark of his office. Nothing.

Then the House whispered. _Light the fire. He's coming._

'What're you talking about?' Michael whispered back, as though his voice might shatter the perfect night. But the house had said all it needed to say and from then on it was silent. Michael knew to do as it said. 'Alright' he conceded to its will.

He flung a hand at the fire, and when he snapped his fingers, it burst into impossible brilliance, blinding in the cavernous dark of the house. It glowed brighter than the mouth of Hell, and Michael should know. He'd been there, and returned. Then somebody banged a perfect rhythm on the great, double doors. Three times. He spun.

'What's going on,' he whispered to the dark. 'Come on, House, give me a clue? Please?'

000

The wind howled through the open door and blew the rag taggle tramp in with it, and when he stumbled over the doormat, he bought a flurry of desiccated leaves with him. More than surprised to see the house was occupied, he caught himself on a statue and gazed at the Maestro in shock.

'Shit,' he breathed, through lips cracked by time and weather. 'Sorry, mate, I thought it was empty-'

'Then why'd you knock?' Michael went closer, unafraid. 'Come in. I've got a fire upstairs.'

The tramp frowned. Little crows feet appeared at the corners of his eyes. His beard obscured his lips, but Michael could see he was confused.

'Alright mate, if you say so,' he stood up slowly. 'I wouldn't let me in.'

Michael shrugged and began to mount the long steps.

'Why not?' he said lightly.

The tramp followed, drawn by the promise of warmth and maybe, a hot cup of tea. This kindness was as good as it ever got. He followed through the narrow door, and found an office come bedroom within. It seemed like all the maestro's worldly goods were in this one room. Heat bled from the hearth and began to prick his frozen feet. Michael beckoned him in.

'Sit down, have the armchair. Get warm,' Michael watched with curious eyes as he ran work weathered hands along the back of the antique chair. 'I'm Michael.'

'Darren.'

He held out his hand. Michael shook it. It was cold but strong, and he sensed Darren was used to giving a firm handshake. He wondered if the man had once had a job, maybe been a professional in something.

'Sit,' Michael smiled. 'It's lucky I lit it. It was almost dead just a few minutes before you arrived. How did you get up here? I'm sure I locked the gate.'

Darren licked his lips.

'It swung open.'

'Ah,' Michael nodded. 'Sure, it does that. Even with the padlock on.'

For a moment hazel eyes locked with black. They understood one another.

'You want me to go?' Darren asked, his pristine hazel eyes hard edged and ready for the inevitable fall.

'No,' Michael shook his head.

Then silence became louder than the fire, and the men regarded each other. Darren looked away first, into the flames.

'This is kind. But I'd save yourself the trouble and turf me out now, while you're not involved.'

'Why? Are you a criminal?'

Darren smiled. Michael knew he had because his beard lifted and his eyes regained a bit of sparkle.

'So they say, but I don't remember it myself.'

'So you didn't do anything? You're innocent?'

'Innocent? No,' Darren's smile widened. 'No, I'm not innocent. I was fucked. And I'll be fucked if I can remember what I did, when and to who.'

'Mmm,' Michael nodded.

'They'd love to have a reason to hang you,' Darren smiled now, but it wasn't merry. It was dark.

'What do you mean?'

Darren rubbed his hands. 'Everyone in this town knows who you are. Even the bum on the street.'

'So what?' Michael felt his heart clench up but he didn't show it. More lies. 'I don't care what they think they know.'

'Well you should,' Darren said. 'The mayor would have you out if he only could.'

'How do you know?'

'I've got family here. Fuckers won't even feed me,' he leaned closer to the fire. 'They don't wanna know. Who cares.'

000

Michael glanced out of the high window, where a perfect view of Normal Town by moonlight stretched in silver panoramic. He wondered how long it would be before they came here, to try and move him on. Well they'd be sorry if they tried.

'I'm sorry.'

'Yeah well. Don't be,' Darren sniffed. He cursed softly over his frozen hands. Then he let out a slow breath and bent over, trying to get warm.

Michael tore an ancient, musty blanket off the sofa and handed it to him.

'I don't care what they think,' Michael said again. He slid into the chair opposite and Darren warmed his hands. 'What did you do?' Michael broke the silence.

'Raped a girl.'

Michael's eyes were unreadable, black. Darren scowled.

'I never fucking raped her. I never even touched her. I woke up and she was right there. I never even saw her before.'

'Then who-'

'How should I know,' Darren rumbled. 'I just know, it wasn't me. But nobody saw it so nobody can say what I didn't do.'

Michael breathed out through his nose.

'Do you want something to eat?'

'I wouldn't say no.'

Darren ate what was put in front of him, and when Michael made it again he ate it a second time, and before much conversation could elapse he found himself trying not to doze in the chair. The second time he jolted awake half way through Michael's sentence, he apologised.

'Haven't slept in a while,' he said. 'Once you get warm, you sleep...it's better to be awake on the street. You fall asleep and you might as well die.'

'Sleep,' Michael said calmly, gently. His voice was soothing, and Darren was having a hard time keeping both his eyes open together.

'I've been in your hair long enough-'

'No,' Michael pushed him back into the chair. 'I insist.'

000

Thump. Bang. Jingle. Repeating rhythm went around and around in Darren's head, punctuated by that incessant bell. In his dreams the chairs had come to life in the house and they were dancing around the fire, and Michael stood at the centre laughing at them. When he jolted awake it was to the thump of feet, and he realised the dance was real, but it wasn't chairs. It was ghosts. For a long time, he stood on the balcony with his mouth hanging open and his brain refusing to see what was there.

Through the walls they walked, they danced, whirling through the columns that held up the roof. Sixteen pairs of feet held the rhythm on the soles of their shoes, sixteen pairs of hands beat a melody onto the furnishings, sending up great clouds of dust. Sixteen musty, strangled voices sang in ancient words and round and round they went, punctuated by that incessant little bell.

Darren's skin flushed with fear, and all the hair on his head, peppered with grey, stood up on end. A fire was burning in the great hearth, and Michael stood before it backlit by flame. He was laughing, laughing, pointing at the jester, who capered through the crowd and rang his bell.

And their feet went around and around, drawing music on the floor, and only when Darren made a funny, strangled noise did sixteen pairs of eyes look up from sixteen rotting faces, and Michael gasped in surprise to see Darren, but then he laughed. He looked almost embarrassed as he walked through the ghosts, who shied behind their maestro. Their toes tapped the rhythm, their maestro twitched, wanting to dance. They smiled and fawned, and the jester peeked from between two of them, and leered, and rang his bell.

'Come down here!' Michael called. 'Don't be scared. You are, aren't you. Scared I mean. It's just fun. Did I wake you up?'

Darren didn't move.

'You're crazy. I'm fucking crazy-' he rubbed his eyes. 'Shit.'

'I'm not crazy,' Michael emphasized, as he began to make his way up the stairs. His smile peeled away. He needed Darren to understand but he'd been to this place before. 'I'm not. I'm not crazy. Are you scared?'

'Of course I'm fucking scared,' Darren breathed. 'I'm dreaming..'

'No,' Michael shook his head. 'Not a dream. It's not. Look,' he pointed to the chandelier, where a women in the torn blue gown swung, and her sudden laughter pierced the silence like a needle. She fell, and the impact was the drumbeat that started the song, and sent them tap tap tapping again and made Michael dance.

Darren edged down the stairs, watched him pick up the hands of a ghostly corpse in green and twirled him in a sombre waltz, and giggled when he passed right through a wall. When Michael walked back through the wall, Darren found himself trembling. Hazel eyes met brown. Michael just smiled. Beautiful. Innocent. Playful. And Darren wondered if he's strayed into a dream.

'Aw come on. You've seen weirder stuff. Haven't you? Haven't you?' Michael held out his hands in invitation but Darren didn't move.

'I'm fucking hallucinating-' Darren shook his head. Then he started to laugh. Michael eyed him like he'd gone mad, but Darren laughed and laughed and eventually he sagged, his hands on his knees against the wall. He gestured. 'Go on, please. Don't let me interrupt you.'

And he went back into Michael's study and wrapped himself in the blanket.

000

The rhythm bounced around the house, and shook the walls. It was a party from hell, and Darren dug courage from some deep placed well seated in denial. He tried to block the sound with his hands. When that didn't work, he realised he was signing something old from his childhood, a tune he hadn't heard in years, and the sound of his own voice drowned out the dancers. And Michael's laughter.

And much later, when Darren had fallen asleep on the bed at one side of the room, the laughter stopped and everyone wished everyone a good dawn. The light was coming up, and Michael disturbed him. Darren pushed the blanket off and sat up, confused, still chilled, and amazed that he could have such vivid dreams.

'You're in my bed,' Michael was smiling.

'And you're in my head,' Darren concluded. 'I've been here long enough now. Thanks,' he rose.

'Don't go,' Michael was still smiling. 'Come on, I don't bite. At least, not hard. And they're gone now. Did they scare you?'

'You _want_ me to be scared,' Darren turned to him.

'Of course.'

'Congratulations,' he nodded, as he went to stand up.

Michael sat down. He shrugged, saddened.

'I don't want you to go,' he said. 'I want you to stay. You're my guest.'

'I've been your guest,' Darren corrected him.

'No you still are. I'm going to sleep. There's a bathroom at the end of the hall, if you want it.'

Darren watched him lie down, and he shook his head.

'Do you know what they say about you in the town?' he said.

'No,' Michael said, with his eyes closed.

'They say you're a freak.'

'And what do you say?' Michael didn't open his eyes.

Darren sighed.

'Who cares what I think?'

'I do. You've seen it. So what do you think?'

'Fine,' Darren threw his hands up. 'You're the weirdest fucker I've ever met. And this is the weirdest night I've ever spent anywhere. But you're kinder than any of them down there. I don't get it. What IS this place?'

'My home,' Michael said. 'And my family.'

'You're all dead,' Darren said, as if he was finally admitting it to himself.

'No,' Michael was off the bed in a second. He shook his head. 'No,' he grabbed Darren's arm. 'Do I feel dead? Huh? Do I feel like I'm a ghost to you?'

'No,' Darren stared, shocked into the intense black eyes. He shook his head. 'You feel real.'

'Well I am real. I'm real,' he emphasized it. 'Ghosts are real.'

'Ghosts aren't solid,' Darren argued.

'I am,' Michael let go. 'Ghosts are alive, just like you are. They just don't have bodies. Darren. Look, here you go,' Michael produced a key from nowhere. 'There's a room down the hall. The one with the blue door. You can sleep there. Or you can stay in here. With me, where it's warm.'

Darren's eyes changed, minutely. His frown was only half of itself. It soon dropped into something more like shock. Tentatively, he said; 'in here?'

'Yeah,' Michael nodded easily, calmly. Darren was beginning to wonder. 'In here. With me. Where it's warm. And there's company. Don't you like company?'

Darren shook his head in amazement. And his skin started to flush pink for another reason.

'How old are you,' he said.

'Why.'

'Because you're like a kid.'

'So?' Michael shrugged. 'Not all the time, anyway.'

'Right,' Darren nodded doubtfully. But he took the key in his hand and went to find the bathroom.

000

A bit later he returned, and the ghostly maestro was tucked up in bed, with his clothes hung on an old wardrobe, and his wild black hair tickling his skinny collarbones. His chest rose and fell gently in sleep. His face was relaxed. Darren touched his own clean shaven chin. It'd been a while since he'd had a shave. It felt good. Whoever this weirdo was he was the oddest creature Darren had ever met, and he'd met some real freaks on the streets. Michael's pale hand lay relaxed on the covers. It had all the soft, lean-fingered beauty of an artists hand. Darren depressed the bed as he crept onto it.

'Mmm,' was all Michael said, when someone rearranged the pillows on the other side and lay down.

'I can't believe I'm doing this,' Darren muttered.

'Sometimes you just have to do what feels good,' Michael sighed. Darren sense he wasn't really asleep by the edge to his voice. 'Is that why you came in here instead of going down the hall?' his eyes were still closed.

'It's warm in here,' Darren said, a bit defensively.

'That's not the reason,' Michael rolled over, and buried his perfect nose in the dusty old pillow. 'I know it isn't.'

'Yeah, whatever, but it is warm,' Darren smiled.

For a few minutes they were quiet. Darren lay uncomfortably, like a man on a bed of peppercorns and Michael seemed to doze. Then just when Darren thought his odd host had gone to sleep, Michael opened his eyes and smiled languidly at him. For the first time Darren looked and saw truthfully. Michael's eyes sparked with happiness but there was a layer of darkness behind them. It was risky, beautiful and arousing.

'You do clean up good,' Michael said, gently.

'I've looked worse,' Darren's thick, dark lashes flickered. 'Fuck I'm tired.'

Laying in the dark, it was only after Michael had turned out the light that Darren computed what he'd seen. The perfect outfit he'd been wearing was hanging on the wardrobe in the corner. His host was naked. And Darren, sensing that being the same was would be entirely appropriate, suddenly wondered if he'd misjudged this situation completely. But then a soft little voice cut through his doubts.

' Are you cold?'

Darren had rarely felt hotter.

'Freezing,' he lied, and he stretched out a hand to find a slinky, warm arm that was all slender strength and no fat.

'Me too,' Michael was right beside him suddenly, his breath warm on Darren's neck. Darren's heart thumped like there was a whole marching band inside him. It was going so fast and so loud that he was sure Michael would hear it, but the smaller man just put his soft, warm head on Darren's shoulder. His hair tickled Darren's chest.

In fact, before Michael had brushed the first suggestive kiss against the older mans jaw, Darrens eyes had already filled up with tears. He'd never admit it, but the cold and the rain and the life he'd lead, and the way he'd punished his body for the last year had just backed up. He'd lived in constant fear, and tonight was the first night he didn't feel like that. He swiped the evidence away before Michael could detect it, and in the dark hands collided as they wriggled to get closer, and finally settling on a fast warming embrace, Michael sighed softly into his neck.

'I thought you didn't want to.'

Want to? Darren thought about it. He wanted to all right. The longer that slender body was pressed against his side the harder he got and the more he aches and the more he wanted to all night long. Then his host shifted suddenly and slid a hand down between them. After that there were few words.

Darren couldn't trust his voice and he wanted to hear the noises Michael was making. Once the maestro's slender hand had been around his cock once, Darren was in no mood to stop to chat. Somewhere between the first glorious touch and the second, deep kiss Darren lost his cool and rolled over, pressed his hips to a perfect round arse and began whispering exactly what he wanted to do with it. It was pressed invitingly into his hands. He grabbed the bed covers and pulled his host up onto his knees, and wrapped them both in a little tent of warmth and touches, while he investigated Michael's softest, most intimate little spots. Michael's thighs trembled perfectly after Darren's fingertips, and the secretive, ex-con buried a strong hand between Michael's legs and started playing slowly with him.

The ghost, or the man, or whatever he was, trembled deliciously under Darren's hands, and he had the distinct feeling that Michael wasn't particularly experienced with this. He wrapped both his arms around Michael and licked his earlobe. When it was nice and wet he whispered on it, his breath sending shivers down the younger mans back.

'You done this before?'

'Yeah. Sometimes-'

'Good,' Darren breathed, as he slid a single, thick finger into Michael's mouth. 'Suck it.'

Michaels mouth was hot and wet and Darren pressed against his arse urgently. He slid the wet finger into the dark between them and found the sweet little pucker Michael was hiding. Darren started working the finger inside. He could hear his own ragged breathing and he knew it was going to get worse, and worse, the longer he had to wait to get his cock inside him. He pulled Michael in as tight as he could. His hand tightened in Michael's hair. What he wasn't gripping, fell over Darren's shoulder. Suddenly Darren wanted the light on, wanted to see what he was doing and not just feel it. But it was too far to reach for the switch, so Darren mapped his lover with his fingertips and his lips.

'Oh yeah-' Michael whispered, close to his jaw, and when Darren pushed his finger inside, Michael spread his legs encouragingly and grabbed the arm that was holding him still and steady and squeezed it, panting. Darren felt Michael's breath wash over his cheek. 'More. Deeper!'

Darren wrapped his hand around Michael's cock and bit his own lip, hard, when the slender beauty started making all sorts of lovely noises, interspersed with gasped words – _more, God, please_. Then Darren pushed Michael down onto his hands and knees, and spat on his hand. Slowly, he worked himself inside until his lover was gasping and wriggling to push himself deeper onto Darren's cock.

Again Darren swiped at tears, and they were cold on the back of his arm. He felt for Michael's face in the dark, and he found wet, open lips and closed eyes. He listened to the shaky breaths beneath him, and tried to go slow. Michael felt so delicate he was certain he'd hurt something if he went to fast, but for all his porcelain good looks, Michael didn't behave like somebody who was about to break. Darren soon realised he could be rougher, and actually his lover seemed to be enjoying it even more.

So he buried his hand in Michael's thick black hair, caressed his slender shoulders and ran his hands all the way down to the narrow hips, and his fingertips felt around to memorise the way his cock was sinking so perfectly into the younger man's arse. Darren realised he wasn't going to last, at least, not as long as he wanted to so he reached for Michael's cock and with a bit of practise, managed to get the perfect rhythm.

He had to lean on one hand, and this time he wished he had two more, just so he could dig his fingertips into Michael's perfect, warm skin and memorise every line and curve on offer. He found himself hoping this wasn't the first and last time, and that this perfect willingness would persist to the morning. Michael almost bucked, and he might have done if Darren hadn't been leaning on him and suddenly his thick fist was covered in sticky warmth. Groaning, he was debating pulling out when Michael grabbed his arm.

'Don't stop,' he urged.

Terrified he was going to hurt Michael, Darren did go for slow and easy but it wasn't working. Michael felt too good, especially when he made those soft little noises, and when he started whimpering against Darren's neck and whispering little gasped words of encouragement, Darren lost it, and burying himself deep in the heat, he came with a groan and near enough collapsed with Michael part under him. By the time he'd recovered enough to breathe properly, his slender lover was squirming.

'Let me go, I need-' he was cut off by movement, and then Darren found himself the sole recipient of a single, warm, sweet Michael, who buried himself deliciously in his lovers neck, where he nipped the skin naughtily. Darren felt him smile. '-to cuddle you.'

'Shit,' Darren breathed, enfolding Michael in his arms. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No,' Michael shook his head and his hair tickled Darren's chest again. 'Stay. Don't go.'

'I'm not going,' Darren buried his nose in Michael's hair. 'No fucking way.'

000

Light slanted through the ruined blinds and on the bed, Darren slept peacefully for the first time in a year. In his arms, Michael was flat out, his mouth open, pink lips pressed against Darren's chest, and his hair a tangled mess. Once they moved, and before Michael could roll away in his sleep Darren woke and followed him. They woke, nose to nose, some time later and as one one set of sleepy eyes met another, both remembered what had happened.

For a moment, Darren wasn't sure if he was about to be accused of something a second time. Then Michael smiled and stretched like a pussycat, and before Darren could muster his voice to croak 'good morning' Michael beat him to it with a shy kiss. He found himself smiling as Michael reached up and ran his long fingers through Darren's fast greying hair.

'Wow, you do look good with your hair a mess,' Michael smiled playfully.

'Yours is worse,' Darren pointed out.

'Mine's artful. Yours is really bad.'

'It's because I've been really bad,' Darren smiled. 'Listen...I know this wasn't exactly what I planned to be doing right now, I don't know how you feel about it, but-'

'Shut up,' Michael smiled sweetly. His dark brown eyes were almost black, and up close they were like two whirlpools into darkness. 'And kiss me. I _love_ it when you kiss me.'

000

A week later Darren was up with the frozen cobwebs, and he walked to the local store for some supplies. For the first time since he'd lost his house and his girl, he actually felt right. He felt energized. He felt happy. He was carrying a paper bag across the main road when a darkness blurred into his vision from the right. It knocked him sprawling into the road, and a second blur, much bigger than the first, ended all that he'd come to love with a single, horrible thump.

It was some time before Darren stood up. Some time before he could look down at his body and realize what had happened, and some time before the man in the white coat showed up to gesture for him to follow. Darren stared at him. Death wasn't at all what he'd expected. A tall man with grey hair and piercing blue eyes, he seemed nice enough, and in the light Darren could see all manner of happiness.

Then the mansion on top of the hill crept into his thoughts, and he remembered. Michael. And he backed away, into the darkness. Death reached for him, his white hand all calloused and worn, his shiny suit glittering in the light of Heaven. But Darren backed away, and he thought only of Michael, and before he could really help it, he was back at the mansion, and the fire was burning in the grate and Darren was looking at himself in his own afterlife. Michael sat on his lap, his beautiful white fingers brushing the greying hair on Darren's chest soothingly. He smiled.

'So what did you do? No, Death, you can't have my soul!' Michael mimicked a girly voice.

Darren snorted.

'I don't know...I just...walked away.'

'Why?' Michael looked perplexed. 'He only comes once every seven years.'

Darren's confusion lifted a little. 'He'll come again?'

'Of course, silly. He comes every seven years for those who don't want to be on Earth any more.'

Darren pulled Michael down and kissed his forehead.

'How many times have you said no?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Michael shook his head. 'I've lost count.'

Darren said nothing. He brushed his fingers through Michael's hair and smiled fondly.

'Maybe one day we can go with him.'

'I guess. I never really thought about going, to be honest. I like it here. I like the children down in the town. I like making a difference. I don't want them to forget me. Everyone thinks they can control ghosts. I hate that.'

'We could though.'

'I guess we could,' Michael lifted his head to look up. 'Do you want to? Really I mean?'

'No,' Darren shook his head and smiled. 'Not yet,' he said, and he drew Michael in for a kiss. 'Not for a while yet.'

END


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